


Why doesn't he have a beard yet?!

by writingdetritus



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Durin Family, Gen, Kili and Dis bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingdetritus/pseuds/writingdetritus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why doesn't Kili have a beard yet? He goes to his mother for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why doesn't he have a beard yet?!

**Author's Note:**

> Getting back in the mode of writing, have some fluff.

Dís was outside sharpening her axe. She hadn’t used it in years, but she liked to keep it in shape just in case. In case of what, she wasn’t sure. But better be safe than sorry. Or as her ever solemn brother would say “Be prepared for all situations that may arise.”

Her thick black hair was up for once, braided into three braids down her back, and two hanging over her shoulders. She had slipped on the silver rings that she had kept from her childhood into the ends of the ones over her shoulders. Her shirt was of the Durin royal blue, and she wore leather leggings instead of her skirts. Chasing after her sons was much easier in pants.

Her two boys were outside too, enjoying the summer sun. Fíli had just begun to grow his first beard on his chin – making him look more like his father each day. His golden hair glittered in the sun as he tossed his baby brother over his shoulder and then dropped him so he rolled down the hill. Kíli was already as tall as Fíli, but he was extremely fair faced – much like Thorin when he had been young. His black hair was lush and shone in deep auburn tones in the sunlight. He had tied it back into a loose ponytail – something he didn’t often, but Dís liked it when he showed off his face.

Her axe was glimmering as she ran her whetstone over the edge. Many people (dwarf and human alike) did not realize just how much of a warrior she had been in her youth. She may not have fought in full battles, but both her brothers had trained her well as they saw their family slowly shattering. She hoped Thorin would teach her children in a skill, in what she did not mind. Speculating, she always figured Fíli would go for something heavy such as a hammer, a broad sword, something with weight to it in his hands. But Kíli, he was somewhat a mystery to his own mother. He had the sour look of a Durin when at all pensive, the gayety of Frerin, and the mischief and lightness of something not all too dwarfish. She did not know if he would ever feel the need to pick up a weapon. Either way, she did not mind.

“Can I watch?” Dís was startled out of her solemn, meditative act of sharpening by her youngest that stood before her, eyes cast up.

“Where is your brother?” She asked curiously.

“He just went back to the house to fetch his things for a trek with Thorin,” Kíli shrugged, sitting beside his mother. Dís scowled and rolled her eyes upwards. Fíli was technically old enough to go on treks and short trips with his uncle, but she would have appreciated knowing beforehand. Then again, Thorin did what Thorin wanted. “Can you teach me?” Kíli suddenly asked, and Dís turned to him in somewhat surprise.

“Teach you how to sharpen a blade?” She asked. She figured he had learned already at either Fíli or Thorin’s hand. She was often not in the loop of her sons teachings when it came to smithing, hunting, anything not in the house or market.

“Well, I know how to sharpen a knife,” Kíli conceded. “But I’ve never done something as large as that.” He gestured at the axe resting on her knees.

“Alright,” Dís said, setting it on his lap with a smile. “Spit on the whetstone and simply do what you would with a knife; only keep with the curved edge.” Kíli did so, and sat silently beside his mother. It wasn’t a thing that was hard to teach – especially since he already knew how, but Dís relished in the simple lesson. She watched her son work closely to the blade, and she couldn’t help but reach up and ruffle his hair out of its ponytail.

“Why’d you do that?” He asked, turning to her.

“Keep working,” She pointedly nodded at the blade on his lap. “You should braid your hair like your brother.” She commented, absently running her fingers through his tangled locks.

“Why? You hardly ever do, and Uncle barely has any,” Kíli muttered.

“I’ve spoiled you,” Dís laughed. “I should have had both of you braiding your hair since you were but babes, but I could not.”

“Why?”

“Why because you two were too wild for even me to braid mine,” Dís laughed. She began to twist the strands into complicated but loose braids. “But then again, I do not see you with braids,” she muttered, more to herself than her son. But this made him pause again in his work.

“Why? Is it because I’m not like Fíli or Uncle?” He asked his voice a bit lower with something that was supposed to bite her but she couldn’t tell what.

“What do you mean?”

“Because I do not have a beard yet! And I should!”

Dís had to laugh out loud. This was a woe she had heard a many a time from her siblings and now apparently her own children. “Oh darling, my wild child.” She laughed harder as memories rushed through her. “You are truly Durin Folk.”

“What does that mean?” Kíli asked indignantly, setting the axe down beside him and looking up at his mother with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t ever tell your Uncle I told you this,” Dís said, leaning down as if she were speaking secrets. “But he did not grow that beard of his until he was older than Fíli. And Frerin, my brother whom you never met – well, he matured perhaps faster than Thorin but still much slower than the rest.”

“Really?” Kíli asked.

“Really. And you want to know the best part?” Dís asked. Kíli nodded, and she leaned even closer. “I did not have the hair on my face as many dwarf girls have, but I had the most luscious hair out of all of my siblings – even my father could not compare. So I dare say your hair comes from me and not your fathers. Unlike Fíli.”

“But why _can’t_ I have a beard yet?”

“I want you to understand,” Dís said, now stern as she leaned back. “Being different than the masses can be a blessed thing, and you should not doubt yourself. Whatever you do. And this includes if you never grow anything on that pretty fair face of yours!” She pinched his cheek, which he batted away with a hidden smile.

“Mother!”

“And I will love you always,” She said.

“But you’re my mother, should I expect anything else?” Kíli asked, rolling his eyes upwards.

“No you shouldn’t,” Dís replied and tackled her son and they laughed together as the sun began to set.


End file.
